


Caught Your Eye

by Aerine



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Charmander and Hop just chillin like Lee just confess god you're so embarrassing, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pikachu IS YOUR WINGMAN, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Story within a Story, YOUR SISTER IS A WINNER AND YOU CHEER HER ON, little sister is named Lydia why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerine/pseuds/Aerine
Summary: Your little sister is the newest, most promised challenger to beat the region’s Champion. Leon is said Champion. You just have a Pikachu.A series of drabbles following yours and Leon’s friends-to-lovers slow burn… years in the making.
Relationships: Leon/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 234





	1. Caught Your Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Leon peak dumbass. Love him tho

Your little sister was a passive one, words rarely escaping past her lips unless the family’s Munchlax wobbled toward her side of the table and cried out for just a spoonful of Mum’s sweet and spicy curry. With a, “Here ya’ go,” your eight-year-old sibling was digging into her plate for a bite larger than her stomach, legs swinging off the edge of her seat at the table to feed her sweet, precious, _gluttonous_ boy. With a smile, the girl was content with the raising of Munchlax’s chubby arms, mouth open wide as she indulged his tendencies once again. Then, with a frown and a huff, she willed herself to swallow just a few more piles of curry—substantial of a price to pay so she could play with children her age. A new kid, at that, so this boy must have been worth the near inedible goop before her.

Just a herd of Wooloo’s down were the new kids of Postwick, two boys named Hop and Leon close to yours in age that were quick to catch the attention of your little sister. The two brothers were entertaining, animated with their tendencies to get into trouble, to whatever adventure the rest of Postwick had to offer. You could tell the siblings had a penchant for it, as they were eyeing the shut gates to the Slumbering Weald since they first stepped outside as residents of the quaint town. Above all else was their desire to enjoy life, despite the warnings not to reach that threshold to the unknown, and to achieve their goal of becoming the greatest trainer ever was; apparently, _everyone_ in the region shared the same idea. However, adults eyed their exuberance, and with that came expectations: the title of Champion was one of theirs for the taking, they were sure of it. The eldest especially, as he held the charisma of a winner and, even at his age, remained undefeated against his classmates.

With your foot resting atop one of the legs of the table, you tipped back in your chair with your arms crossed. “Lee’s Charmander’s proper good, ya’ hear that Lyds?”

Lydia, with a nod of her head, pulled her hand from underneath the table to point at her plate. Your mother, with her futile attempts to enjoy her own cooking, eventually waved her daughter off towards hours of fun before turning to you with her head falling against her shoulder… mouth full of curry. _Why aren’t you with them? No Pokémon catch your eye yet?_ Not everyone in the Galar region strived to complete their Pokédex, living the rest of their lives aware they just inhabited a world ruled by Pokémon. Sure, finding ones of slight variations was… well, it was _kind of_ cool, but that required lots of energy that meant to be towards your schoolwork. No matter how cute your sister’s Munchlax was, or how so adorably adept your mother’s Budew’s were at gardening, none of them were enough of a distraction to whisk you away from home. Sometimes loving and caring for one or a few Pokémon, because you chose them like they chose you, was enough.

With a shake of your head, you shrugged your jacket over your shoulders and followed your little sibling to the entrance of your home. Lydia was bouncing in the soles of her shoes, ankle boots the same brand and look yours were, hands clapped together before one of them found yours to drag you outside. Her sweater wasn’t zipped up all the way despite the cool breeze, her hair unkempt and crinkled through the steam lingering in her kitchen, but as an eight-year-old… none of that mattered to her like it did to you. She was content, maybe not so much during the few seconds your fingers latched at the strands of her hair and smoothed down the misplaced hairs, but the grin tugging on her lips was a sight to see. Judging by the Eevee evolutions trailing down the sleeves of her top, and that same tenacious smile, you imagined Leon and Hop had some serious competition in the future.

Already the two brothers were standing idle, the sun setting at an angle that accentuated their excitement over seeing their new, and most trusted friend. One day, the three would be rivals, competing for the edge of the world.

_Huh. Why’s Leon’s cheeks so red?_


	2. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are Leon's greatest distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would so appreciate comments, any feedback, any reactions... Don't be shy, come talk!

You plagued his mind so often, a parasite feeding on a host too stupid, too naïve to object. He would pitch his Poké Ball at a field of wheat and grown vegetables, tails of various species peeking from the tall grass, and the hues of nature would remind him of that same morning where the Sun pressed its lips all over your skin and the stories held in the irises of your eyes. In the crook of your elbow was a textbook—what class was it for... _huh_. Biology was his accurate and educated guess, and the stroll back to his house was burdened with thoughts of you grasping your head in hopes that the information could be traced or willed to existence. Flash cards, post its, and a multitude of lines in your notebook were developing in his picture of you, no doubt a sight deserving of being framed, and the more that snapshot of you basking in your solitude rose in significance, the more the boy desired to know what you were up to at that very moment.

His Charmander wobbled toward him, only reaching up to the boy’s scraped knees. With an exclamation of his name, the Pokémon wrapped his arms around calves strengthened due to hours of adventure, electric blue eyes directed up at a boy whose gaze remained out into the distance. The breeze brushed against strands of hair falling just past his ears, leaving an impact in the form of a whistle tampering with his eardrums, and yet nothing proved worthy enough to snap him from his trance. A Poké Ball would be launched from his palms, falling much like he was, only moments later rising once again to face the sunset. The object of his future fit in his hands so perfectly that the glance at someone so familiar, so daunting was only just shy of enticing his fingers toward something else.

You were contrasting the boy by fiddling with the sleeves of your cardigan, pulling at the edges so they could cover the lines of your palm. Whereas Leon was content with a sweatshirt framing his figure, gym shorts swaying gently in the breeze, attempts were made to shudder without any of your neighbors noticing because the weather was nothing compared to the piles of snow Postwick would inevitably have to shovel and pay mind to. Nonetheless, with your hands fishing in your pockets for items left to the unknown, you then pulled at the collar of your uniform whilst balancing your biology textbook against your waist. All of that, Leon guessed, resulted from the hour of tutoring you subjected yourself to, regardless of Hop and Lydia’s pleads for you to take them outside into the wild. Every Wednesday, the boy of mixed descent couldn’t miss your fast pace back home, you effortlessly catching his eye with the way your hair was styled that day.

He made the mistake of allowing his gaze to linger upon you, even when you returned the favor just feet away from your porch. _What are you, daft? Look away, you bloody idiot!_ He raised his arm, and waved at you. Of course, it was difficult to adhere to that knowing the tug at the corner of your lips was reserved for him, and he was sure to be thankful for being the only source of your amusement after a long school day. With the attempt to block the sounds of his Pokémon crying for attention, or the calls of his name by his parents, he took note on the tremble of your shoulders and the lax demeanor mirrored in your body movements as you snickered the more the boy continued to ignore the tail edging toward his right ankle. None of that mattered to him, not when it was you.

“I'll be over in a jiffy!” With a pivot, you waved the boy off to his duties with a final, “You’ve got more pressing matters to deal with!”

Leon’s head fell to his shoulder before he was aware of a fire burning in his periphery, his Charmander moving one step away from the boy with eyes shuffling towards the direction you left. The flame of his tail wagged in the shadow of his body, arms wide as the thirteen-year-old remained oblivious to the creature’s efforts to have some fun with his owner. Futile the attempts were, as his trainer couldn’t help but avert his gaze when you were unrecognizable by the greenery that crawled up the off-white gates encasing your home, Charmander couldn’t help but turn to the next source of entertainment: Leon’s rather pathetic crush on his neighbor next door. At least, that was what his little brother called it, because it wasn’t as if Hop had a vocabulary broad enough to at least sugarcoat it.

A prime example being at the dinner table. “Hurry up and say somethin’, wimp.”

Now that was easier said than done, because how could his older brother ever properly convey his crush on his best friend’s older sister without completely embarrassing himself? The more Hop found his sibling under your trance, the more the boy wanted to puke. In fact, Leon felt exactly that almost every time he spoke to you, even if it was only a few words exchanged in class. You, you, all of _you_ came in the form of a disease he was so helplessly inflicted with, a sickness only treated through hopes that the next conversation would be better than the last. He supposed some higher being was to thank for no one being able to hear his thoughts as he sounded much like a teenaged girl in love and boy, did he hate it.

However, the ringing of his doorbell jolted him from his seat on the table, and he was already on his knees fiddling with the laces of his sneakers. Behind him, his little brother pursed his lips, abandoning his plate in favor of making wet kissing noises in hopes of a successful attempt at being his brother’s greatest inconvenience.

It worked.


	3. God Help the Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needs all the help he can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to whoever guesses what reference I'm making in the title. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this filler, the REAL story is about to come! Please subscribe, comment, kudo, whatevs, thank you for your support and thanks for sticking with me.

You let out a groan at courageous steps forward, gruff calls edging closer to your body still reeling from the effects of your dream. With the hunch of your back, you were curled up beneath the blanket in a position you described as peak comfort, petals of your fan waved around in a direction that was perfect. Drops of rain fell to the glass of your window, the clouds overhead a wondrous, dull shade of pewter; at seven in the morning, the sun was meant to rise. However, no streaks of light along your floors were to appear but the faint flickering of a lantern prepared for its replacement, as it welcomed the change of pace well unlike you. Unfortunately, the rest of the world could not bear to share your sentiment.

With a shake of your head, your hands grasped at your pillow and held the fluff against your ears. “Bloody _hell_ ,” you huffed, forearm falling to blind you from all that threatened to disrupt your slumber. The perpetrator, with footsteps that mirrored your sister’s, grunted out his own name and took ahold of a hand free from your blankets with the attempt to pull you from your bed. With a grin, the Pokémon dragged his feet across your carpet and observed your behavior as the bones in your wrist began to crack and you were just not having it. Where the audacity to approach your room with his height came in the form of an idea, you imagined a few scraps of Mum’s cooking did the trick. All you were sure of while your consciousness was returning to reality was that you wished Munchlax wasted his energy on other things, like not being in your room.

“Hey, time to wake up, yeah?”

On second thought, he could stay. If only he took one, most crucial bite out of your intruder’s leg. “Oh, _bugger off_!”

With a growl, guttural and laced with bits and pieces of a dream, you thrashed about in your bed and reared your arm back to chuck the pillow resting your head behind you, not at all paying mind to what or who would receive the brunt of the impact. Your head fell against the mattress, hands wrapped around the comforter to pull it closer to your chin; by now, the lamp outside your window ceased to burn—lifeless, never as bright. A cry was what followed, then a thump, and you finally rose from near death to determine the cause of all of the commotion: Leon, in your bedroom, his back sliding down your wall as his hand clutched indigo strands of hair at the back of his head. You blinked once, twice, three times, before throwing the covers back and climbing out from comfort and warmth to the faint breeze that closed the distance between the two of you.

“What’re you, a baby?” You let out a huff, pulling the sleeves of your shirt past your fingers.

“Oh, yep. It hurts real bad, ki—“ _Kiss it better?_

Averting your gaze from the warmth crawling up his dimples, the shuffling of your eyes met the movements of your sister’s, her stature weighed down by a book bag pulling at her shoulders; no words were exchanged, yet her grip on the straps were tight… just like the window of time allowed to you before you were late for school. In fact, because precision mattered so much to you, one glance at the clock and a mere seventeen minutes would transpire before you were forced to kiss your mother and the familiarity of your house goodbye, following the path of your sister’s before saying your farewell. Lydia’s arms crossed over the other, an action perhaps influenced by her best friend, and you caught sight of a frown upon her lips.

“You’re up late,” she stated, then disappearing past the doorframe for breakfast.

Your hands stretch at the wrinkles beneath your eyes, down your face. “Alright.” With a drawn out sigh, your attention returned to the boy on your floor. “What’s that you said, Lee? Sorry ‘bout that.”

With a swift shake of his head, he absolved you of his inquiries, allowing you to pull him to his feet. Fiddling at the tie wrapped around his neck beneath his collar, his hands continued to tremble, no doubt your existence being to blame. Regardless, the boy nonetheless revealed his teeth, shackled with wires and braces functioning through rubber bands at the corners of his mouth. Behind eyes the hue of sunflower petals was a story, a testament of a youth too exuberant for the both of you, too burdened with a happiness that inevitably would be lost. His demeanor exuded affability, hands clasped behind his head in order to fool you into his façade of ease; for the year you were fortunate enough to be his friend, his heart was always on his sleeve, emotions understood through little ticks and tendencies of Leon’s that you couldn’t help but notice. However, there was a lot to be known about the fourteen-year-old, like...

“Lee’s shite at directions,” Hop grumbled, shoulders brushing against your sisters.

Lydia, with a smack of his arm, delivered her punishment with drawn out “Hop!” but nonetheless allowed the explicit language to amuse her. Beside you, the taller boy rubbed at the back of his neck, an act that almost halted his attempts to catch up to his three companions, sharing your sister’s exasperation with the little fun fact of the day his brother just had to share. Arms crossed over a number of textbooks from four different subjects, a smile upon your lips couldn’t help but surface due to the low giggles under their breaths, as perhaps Leon’s abysmal sense of direction wasn’t so bad if he had someone his age to guide him. Whether it be following the streets along a map or the steps of long division for a class beneath your level, the boy was helpless at either and _clearly_ you were the only one helpful. Helpful especially because walking three kids, emphasis on three, was part of a routine difficult to overturn.

The minute the two primary school friends waved their goodbyes to you and Leon, the direction to their school quite a few street signs from yours, your shoulder clashed with the boy’s whose response was a smile as bright as the sun. “C’mon, lost boy.” His smile was wide, perhaps wider than before. “ _You_ are definitely not missing class again.”

If you were his, he imagined you would be the only one worth missing.

Your upcoming birthday, though, well...

“Say, love, can I fancy you a gift?”


	4. Put to the Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the angst oops

Your head lulled back over your chair, if only for a second, if only this world could grant you that second of repose. When your eyes closed for the last time in about five, four, three hours, you hadn’t the clue. Attempts were made to reach down past your sleeves, take a slab of skin between your fingers, except they all ended in futility. In yellow chalk, knowledge was spread to a class of aspiring scholars, all sitting at the edge of their seats with hands so engrossed in tracing the words of a blurb under a picture many students like you tended to skim past. A mistake, one that should be rectified if biochemistry was ever to be in your future, was easily done so by the fluttering of your eyes down depths unknown. A Pokémon was uttered, Blissey— _Pokémon this, Pokémon that_ —and if your best friend wasn’t such a freak for all creatures known to man, you would have tuned the rest of the lecture out.

His arm was slung around your shoulders as you did just that, brushing off the memoirs of his journey past Postwick, unfortunate enough that he was so good to you and you could never live up to his kindness. His gaze would travel to the pile of text in your hands, his next set of words an offer for his muscles to be of use, and... no response. _Been chuckin’ Poké Balls left and right_ , he thought was the reason for his strength, except his line of thought was thrown to the side for a future never promised to you. Leon, with a shake of his head, traded the contact with you for an act of chivalry: absolving you from school for if only a moment. Only then do you respond, mimicking his behavior with a grin to add, and you welcome the lack of weight in your hands by asking him to repeat himself. You should have known there was no hesitation when it came to you, and he recounted the story of how he managed to catch a Yamper that reminded him much of the Pokémon's of your shared friend Sonia, unable to conceal the fact that the creature would prove to be better at directions than the boy who caught her.

“Boring ya’ girl again, eh?” A boy matching Leon’s energy wrapped his arms around his shoulders, canines so evident that you couldn’t help but share the sentiment. Raihan and Leon’s back and forths mirrored that of the latter with his brother, always at odds with the other despite not yet having reason to. With a huff, the promised Champion’s eyes rolled to the back of his head upon finding the hand of his supposed rival fussing with your hair, arms lifting back up the books he nearly lost grip of in fright. “Princess got an exam comin’ up, am I right?” Princess _did_ have an exam approaching, then one next week, another the following day, all of these hours of suffering hopefully contributing to the big one that would determine whether blowing off study dates with Leon were worth it in the end. Wasn’t as if you could turn back and find interest in another subject now, for it was too late for you; you hadn’t thought of giving much attention to anything else if it didn’t grant you an A in the curriculum.

Those study dates with your best friend were few hours a week you once anticipated, hours at a time passing so fast you dreaded the dragging on of the rest of the week. Your sister, like you, appeared to never get enough of him; now ten, Lydia vied for his attention because he was the better role model for her. Leon would have no choice but to indulge her, egg on her dreams to become a Pokémon trainer, jumping from the bed and the pile of pastel flash cards before him to join your sister and his brother on their playdate. He would promise you of his return, no matter how mindboggling the words were on those scraps of paper, his Charmander his replacement for the ten minutes his trainer would spend begging his brother to let him study with you. He was quite the Pokémon, your disappointment simmering down within the flame of his tail, attempting to mimic the actions of your friend by reaching down and smacking you across the face with every flash card you picked up and guessed correctly the definition for. Not quite the positive reinforcement you were searching for, but he was useful in your time looking through your notes nonetheless.

However, your workload was far too much, and far too ahead of Leon’s for him to catch up to you, and his antics became too evident of a distraction for you in your now daily doses of answering practice questions and browsing the internet for more information. Surely, it wasn’t as if the boy would mind; Lydia and Hop were lucky enough to have interests that didn’t waste his time, hobbies he himself were interested in. Lydia was free all the time, so you would coax him towards the budding children peeking from behind fences while basking in the solitude of accepting that you were an outsider. That meant pulling yourself from the loop, sticking it out with instructors that would warn you of the road ahead, suffering all alone because Leon could never understand. Although drifting apart from him wasn’t what you wanted, it was an issue meant to be dealt with, quickly, for he was someone undoubtedly worth putting aside time for.

Time you could not afford to waste.

“You got this, y’know. You can afford a break or two.” Unfortunately, Lydia thought otherwise, and Leon took advantage of kids too engrossed in a Gym battle filmed a week ago to find you upstairs doing nothing but what he expected you to be doing. Your hands preoccupied with the keys of your laptop, screen bright with sentences highlighted for reasons unknown, Leon’s were shuffling through the deck of cards that complemented the cream hue of your comforter. The silence shared between you was uncomfortable, too evident to be ignored, the only acknowledgement that he was in your vicinity a parting glance at his figure. You claimed that your appetite was lost when your mother cooked dinner, poking at your brain for bits of information that may come despite the loss of energy. All of that for a test that, in the grand scheme of things, would not matter.

So he left, but not before taking that chance that a peck on your forehead might have been true love’s kiss, not before relaying the message that _you’re the smartest I’ve ever known, if anyone’s gonna get that score it’s you_ , departing from your restless soul in fear that you no longer made room for him.

All for a world that might not make room for you.


	5. Goodbye, You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Til we meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaand this is the moment I've been waiting for!

A Pikachu was his gift to you, a creature the color of the dandelions your mother picked from her garden. She wagged a tail characteristic of a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, cheeks rosy as she cried out for you, arms out as if a child searching for warmth and comfort. He found the little one swiping at an Eevee on Route 4 was his story, recalling of your once playful manner with the decision that you would love the gift, love her... perhaps _love him_. Of course, that last part was never said, reduced to just a murmur to the stars, and perhaps it was enough that you were unable to respond. Leon edged closer to you with a Poké Ball in his grasp, prodding at the Pokemon standing at his side, and for once the now sixteen-year-old ran out of words to say. Once the Pikachu was in your arms, however, eyes twinkling because she was yours, the silence was dissipated with a, “Happy Birthday, love.”

With a shake of your head, your eyes began to burn, tears forming at the corners in an act of weakness you regretted as soon as it was known. How fortunate would you had been if you were still but a child, feigning disinterest in the hobbies of your sister and your best friend by indulging in their existence when nobody was there to catch you in the lie? There was no stopping you from believing how much of a waste of time they all were, no enticing you toward a life where it was acceptable to be worth less to others. The day Leon and Hop moved to your neighborhood, Lydia was the favored child; one day, your mother realized, Lydia would be just enough for the world to turn their heads at her. With no talent, no interest, you were lucky if the world even dared to acknowledge you after all of your hard work. You were lucky if anyone would care to listen, wasn’t like you were important enough to be heard.

This Pikachu was meant to be that one, that pet that those sitting on bleachers awaiting her next move would never see because she was to be yours and yours alone. Her lips would tremble just like yours when you would lament of your score on a test that you wasted your life for, tugging on the denim of your jeans because there was just nothing to tell you other than a _pika_ left in a whimper. By now, you would hope to know what your Pokémon was attempting to relay to you, except it was difficult to comprehend or acknowledge her words when all that could comfort you was confirmation that you really were a failure. Your fist would slam against the wall knowing that it _might_ have all been for nothing, that your friends were off somewhere ignorant to your cries for someone, anyone, to save you from these wavering emotions. All that was left would be her, a Pikachu losing her voice, a gift from a boy who no longer cared for you like you cared for him.

“ _Fuck_ my birthday.” _Because I fucked yours by not showing up_. “Fuck it all, I mean, for fuck’s sake! What a waste of breath this has been!” Your name was said in a tone that caused you to resist his advance to trap you in his embrace, shoving at his chest as if you once didn’t long for your best friend’s warm hugs. The explicit language that rolled off your tongue was foreign, bitter behind your lips, except there was no other word to describe how much better it would have been if this gift wasn’t meant to be in your hands. Everything would have been better if you weren’t there, if you were but a glimpse into his childhood, as you certainly could never make up for being anything more. You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to make this any worse, but— ”I’m... I’m leaving, mate. There’s gotta’ be more to this.” You made everything worse.

You were sure of it, because his eyes were wide and the distance between you increased even further. “W-Wha— Where are you—” He gulped down the future he would have, a future where your face will be another childhood memory soon to be forgotten. His body was stiff, fists clenched, and yet his heart would never halt in its dreams to have yours.

“I dunno, Motostoke. Going to finish fourth before, y’know.” He didn’t. He hadn’t a clue. “I was daft to think I... that it was gonna be something. Even more of a bloody idiot to think I could care more about you than _whatever_ that something is, so—” Your free hand fished around in your messenger bag, pulling out a hat with the trace of a crown along the underside of it. Upon setting it atop the ears of the Pokémon cradled in your arms, you returned all of his favors: the friendship you abandoned for your goals, his warmth when the harshness of beyond Postwick caused your blood to run cold, and the three years you spent as babysitters, as neighbors, as... best friends.

So many questions. _What brought this on? What couldn’t be fixed?_ “You’re… you’re gonna be back, though. You’re coming back. ‘S not for long.” With a shrug of your shoulders, the boy thought you cruel; he thought you a madman for not telling your best friend, loathing how he could hardly tear his gaze from yours averted. That was your gift to him, throwing aside his attempt at grasping your attention. Oh, and a _hat._ Your last gift to him a goodbye that made owning that cap painful, another step back was taken, another minute of time with you stolen. Yet, you continued to play with your food, prodding at the heart he gifted you by absolving yourself from whatever adversities accompanied it; did you even know how much it hurt? Did you _care_?

You demanded that he take all of it back, because there was no point in leaving any bridges to be crossed once you departed, shutting out his silence for your own. You wanted no part of it, no part of him, no part of _Postwick,_ so you hoped that you could forgive yourself when you indulged in paying mind to the Poké Ball he left on your doorstep the following morning. Leon left no note, not even the hat, just the minuscule reminder of a past he hoped you would find it difficult to leave behind you. It’s a remainder of those bridges you attempted to burn by your words and actions, a single string of fate ever so binding. As your mother wept, your sister silent, your eyes were forward with what was ahead; looking back was too much, as if one glance over your shoulder at the house just a herd of Wooloo’s down was to be your ticket back home.

* * *

Your hands are swift as you produce a hair tie from a nearby drawer, pushing it closed with your foot as you tie up strands falling to your back into a ponytail. Seven years later, the word ‘punctuality’ begins to lose its meaning, clothes all over your floor in your flat because you still can’t decide what you want to wear for school. Pikachu remains by your side, amused at your teeth feral in its attempts to secure a piece of toast stuck under for too long, following your movements as you shuffle around your home looking for... “My keys! My damned keys!”

Except the telly’s on, and the news segment seems to take a liking to a certain man in particular. His hair, like yours, falls past his back and accentuates the hair on his chin; his eyes are still as bright as they were years ago, his smile straight and mesmerizing, and it’s a sight many at the local news station love to ogle over. There’s a twinkle in the eyes of his fangirls whenever he passes with the charm that made his win so sweet, so lasting. He is weighed down only by the cape that signifies his win, his status as _Champion_ , free of worries and girls that waste his childhood and take more than they can give. Oh, and his... his _hat_. No matter who asks, the ambitious boy refuses to comment, only sparing a glance at the camera that refuses him privacy and now, you have all the time in the world to sit down and spare two, maybe three minutes more before you’re forced to leave.

Your Pikachu reaches behind the toaster for your keyring, rolling it between her toes as she is delighted in a job well done. The way the keys jingle upon her wiggling is fun to witness, however loud, thus hitting two birds with one stone: entertainment without her owner if only for a little while, and that same owner allowing just moments of time to a man who Pikachu thinks certainly caught her eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me!


	6. Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things don't change. They don't drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one as a precursor for quite the Champion time Leon is about to have :)

Sometimes he thinks he finds you on your porch, fingers counting through petals of forget-me-nots and orchids soaked with morning dew. The sun rises in the distance, many hands a shade over eyes not yet accustomed to dawn, creeping upon the rooftops as another day is soon upon them. Its illumination doesn’t cause Postwick discomfort, just the right shade of new beginnings and a touch of fuchsia. One blink, however, and the flowers are tampered by nothing but the breeze, nothing but the endless vie for attention. Sometimes he forgets you’re no longer there, forced to avert his gaze when it’s not you stretching at your lower eyelids with the woes of having to wake up early to tend to appearances.

Oh, how he sometimes forgets how fast two people drift apart. He leaves to fulfill his dreams shortly thereafter, like you, traveling across wild lands to explore the world, like you. Your sister looks up at him through thick lenses, fiddling at the bridge that connects them, and she advises him to take his time reaching his destination. Of course she thinks he’s out to find you, he travels so light and so reckless. However, she spares a jab at his forearm, a cheeky grin on her lips as she tells him, “See ya’ when you’re Champ, mate.” Hop is no better; he’s huffing and puffing because Leon’s leaving him behind with a bunch of losers, alone with Lydia whom he can’t help but notice has gorgeous curls atop her head, and his reasoning for his agitation _definitely_ is not because he’ll miss his brother. Hop swears its due to Leon’s lovesick puppy eyes, lingering far too long on a framed photo of him and you beside his collection of Poké Balls, shaking his head at how much of a distraction you became. _Of course_ he thinks him leaving is all about you, his contact remains on his phone and he’s been caught more than once scrolling through messages wondering where it all went wrong.

He becomes the Galar region’s Champion, endowed with a cape that he feels as light as a feather in. He stands beside a Charizard most precious to him, cherishing the years he had with his precious boy in his hometown, cherishing the way the Pokémon intends to showcase every trick of his trainer’s that stands out from the rest. He finds the man that endorsed his journey in his periphery, his smile growing, sparing a wave his way before returning to the row of microphones and reporters searching for what Leon thinks served him that win, _who_. He has to prepare himself for the moments where his time is no longer his, when they inquire about the cap strapped to his head. He has to train himself from professing his love to someone who isn’t even listening, instead refusing to comment about the crown that fuels his self-esteem whenever he finds his counterpart in a mirror.

No text. No call. Not even a congratulations from a: ♥

His title remains with him seven years later, as he performed as promised when he was but a teenager, now allowing his wisdom to decide his next moves at twenty-three. He accepts what life is, what it was, moving on to explore the world like he always wanted with his trusty Charizard. Again, he is in love, stupefied by what the world begins to offer him and the level of freedom he is given. It is a love that never lets him down, never tires of him, and he reciprocates by getting himself lost in it all—literally, the man is still shite at directions. Some things just don’t change, and perhaps his time in the present is better because of it.

He pulls his phone from the back pocket of his shorts as he resumes his stroll around the city of Wyndon, turning corners in hopes people don’t notice his presence if but a moment, finding one text from Hop: _Yo think it’s time for Lyds and I to go._ Then another: _u in bruv?_

Then another, except it’s not from him. _You, me, Postwick? Think my sister got what it takes._

He forgets directions to places but not the number of a girl who did him wrong.

… Well, at least he can expect a truly _Champion_ time.


	7. Must Be Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps fate is something to believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!

Fate is a concept, an idea to believe in rather than accept as fact. To believe in whatever was to come meant a sense of control in one’s life, and _God forbid_ if this world wasn’t so unpredictable. Perhaps the word is meant to comfort you, to justify the shudder in your bones at the fast-approaching return to Postwick. In fact, Sonia can go on about how she dawdles in it all, only entertaining destiny when she sees fit which is… exactly the topic of conversation upon your first step in Wedgehurst territory. With your Rotom phone tucked in between your shoulder and your ear, heat traveling to a phone increasing in stupidity the more you couldn’t figure how to navigate it, you raise a shoulder to drag your duffle bag toward the column of your neck while kneeling to bring your able Pikachu into your arms. _“She must be right excited to see Leon in the flesh again, huh?”_ Sonia inquires in fact, expecting proof of delight in return.

The girl famous for her peach strands of hair and her brilliant knowledge of the region remains your friend through passing texts and selfies with your now ex-best friend, and his now rival Raihan. Unlike everyone else, she’s that rock that is dauntless of abilities that near rival a ghost type, choosing to spend moments of her day checking in with a, “What’s goin’, love?” despite your schedule too full to respond to left messages. Sometimes if the nostalgia is too much to bear, she recalls of outings the four of you had however rare, taking quick detours on routes home because you finally caved and relished in the way the sun’s rays traveled in the waves of the lake beside her home. Sometimes she’ll sign off her messages with a plead for you to return through the excuse that Leon and Raihan are down to one bookworm to tease; she misses a friend, a fellow girl, someone whose contact means more to her and less to you as the years are counted and lives are left behind.

No one’s fault but yours, you suppose, it was difficult to detach from the village girl in you to make residence in the city. Contacts of old classmates nonetheless are found upon the habitual scrolling through lists of numbers foreign, all besides your mother, Lydia, and Sonia having to deal with a fleeting existence never picking up. If only any of those people fortunate enough to hold a spot in your memory even bothered to call, but again, no one’s fault but yours. With a few updates every day from Mum about the abundance of Butterfree’s among her plants as if you care and a few more from Lydia mentioning a girl she’s crushing on in University as if you have _any_ right giving her advice, your phone is dry with your recent calls your mentor and boss as the only source.

At this point, you’re not exactly positive why you bought this device.

Your Pikachu nuzzles her rosy cheeks into your forearm, appreciative of that buzz she experiences when her owner gives her attention. “He texted me back a, ‘ _yep_ ’ when I told ‘im, I mean Sonia… he’s definitely a bit cross with me— oh, but the _hat_ —“

You step outside Wedgehurst Station to find a crowd of people in your vision, and the very man invading your thoughts as the object of their affection. They ogle over the cape that dresses him so proper, aware of how contagious his smile can be, salivating at the amount of patience required to fully tame his winning Charizard. There are sparkles in the eyes of each aspiring trainer and parent searching for a distraction, asking him of favors to amuse them just a little longer. You’re somebody that doesn’t deserve paying mind to, except Leon has to perk up at your voice and turn to meet your entrance home, successfully diverting the attention from him and his most trusted Pokémon to someone who wanted none of that. The inhabitants of Wedgehurst turn heads at Leon’s change of behavior and the source, and you lower your phone from your ear as your gaze shuffles at every direction but the one where he is in your direct line of vision.

… And there it is, in your periphery. Your gift to him.

No one walked the world without finding his name on a billboard, his face plastered in hyperbolic documentaries of how the boy from nothing rose to the top and became the Champion of Galar. The world knew he was loved, yes, that he packed up his wardrobe and set out at the age of sixteen, _yes_ , but did they know how good he was at remembering birthdays? His mother would tease him in passing by posting a picture of him when he was a teenager and the population would go mad and exclaim about his braces but were they there during his woes of them being too tight, too fragile? Would anyone have cared if he wasn’t a winner, if he wasn’t _always_ a winner? So many questions and yet, you would think being twenty-three, all the time in the world would be offered to you to answer them.

You followed Leon’s journey to twenty-four through the eyes and ears of others, lips flat as you witnessed him having the time of his life. Lydia, with the occasional snapshot of his rare visit to his home, would encourage a grin from the adult when he found no reason to frown. You would scroll down Hop’s feed, his _stan_ feed if you will, claiming that one day he would be Champion just like his brother, analyzing the stream of Leon’s many battles and victories. Then, if you were courageous enough, the next tab would be reserved for his mother’s profile—still kicking, still tagging your mother in articles about gardening. The occasional upload of Leon’s pose would show up if you scrolled further, with Mum sparing time to comment about how his signature stance _kind of looks like a Charizard_ which was kind of the point, followed by the demand for him and you to meet up in Motostoke. Of course, your name in bold was to be your limit, and you proceeded to exit the application to bang your forehead against your phone two, three times.

His appearance is just as in the pictures, except you’re now able to put a voice and a soul into them. The boy, now a man, can’t seem to avert his gaze from what he deems is the more pressing matter at hand, his cheeks losing its color the more he eyes the color that fuses within yours. His hair reaches yours in length, undoubtedly as soft as silk, and perhaps one day there would come a time where he would allow you to braid it in a design that accentuates more of his silent gratitude. You squint to find the regret in his eyes, maybe contempt, only finding dandelions that sway in the lovely, constant breeze. There is no difference to be found in him so far but the growth on his chin and the tufts of hair that far outmatch yours. Rather than spare his many glances at you, gaze aligning so perfectly with the other, he now follows you to a height stunted just because your body isn’t built to be tall. However, although the number of contrasts is small, they are too significant to ignore, and you can’t help but notice that there can be no return to a boy strife with the burden of crooked teeth and expectations. Leon, although no longer a best friend, remains but a spirit meant to haunt you because no one can seem to let him go. You, unfortunately, are no different.

You, however, appear to have been obscured from both families’ requests for selfies or photos of your new flat, only a comment of how you’re welcomed at your new position, partaking in research that no one cared to find out about, so it’s quite a shock to him to find you seven years later under a new light. Quite some time has passed since yet the years have been kind to you, he’s sure. You deserve it, _of course_ , but maybe you don’t; some part of him has to remind him of what you did to him. Regardless, there exists weights beneath your eyes, no doubt an accumulation of years of studies, yet you compensate for it with lips soft and glossy. The second that transpires before you shield your face from the sun, your irises shimmer underneath it’s rays and he’s thrown back to when the two of you were teenagers and the sun set over the horizon at just the right time when you were just in the right spot, and he’s as mesmerized then as he is now.

_Boy, does he hate it._

There is something you haven’t seen from him since you departed: a frown upon his lips that deters those who find solace in his abiding smile. Eyebrows narrowed if only for a moment, the relief of those that know a caricature of him returns when he puffs out his chest, permitting you from defacing his image by forcing out a, “Welcome home,” despite, you know, not coming back for seven years. The smile that reaches the surface is unsettling to you, as behind it there are cracks in which you are the cause, imprints of memories better off forgotten because you made them undesirable. You return the favor in contrast to Pikachu squirming in your grasp, settling with the familiarity of the boy before her. His Charizard simply huffs out his dismay, gaze observing the tremble that crawls up your skin and threatens to make an already horrid situation much worse. He flexes his growth from the cheeky yet promising Charmander to the inviolable Charizard the world knows, all because you can’t seem to stop breaking his owner’s heart. No difference found, as perhaps his form of discipline during your many study dates alone with him really was punishing you for the inevitable.

Lydia and Hop are in the back of this mess, balanced on top of their toes to witness the commotion over the shoulders of passersby, murmuring under their breaths of the lack of timing that warrants such a situation. The two grown, yet not grown enough, graduates jostle shoulders to get through to the both of you, and it is then that you notice of the increasing similarity in behavior and appearance between Leon and his sibling. Of course, there’s no time to worry about it lost, as Lydia grasps your free arm and grants you a favor after years of you slacking as her sister and her confidant. When she drags you from the fray, calling for Leon over his shoulder of her intended whereabouts, you’re not at all occupied with the intimidation of unwanted attention and off handed clicks of the tongue.

Out of all the caps to wear…

Out of all the trinkets and parting gifts that would remind you of home…

_You wear mine._


End file.
